


We are Vengeance!

by Poztupim



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Choices, Explicit Language, Fenris Isle, Gilneas, Refugees, Retelling, Undead, War, Worgen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poztupim/pseuds/Poztupim
Summary: A group of farmers and village militia flees northwards to escape the Forsaken war machine. They find refuge in an ancient keep and start rebuilding their broken lifes. But the Banshee's arm reaches wide and one day a brutal choice must be made.Is your pride really worth dying for?
Kudos: 1





	We are Vengeance!

_Should a free man be proud?_

_Or is pride a chain only a fool would shackle himself with?_

Our world broke long before our land did. When the black tide came rolling in from the North. When a new king abandoned his cousins „for a greater cause“. When a pale bitch destroyed our village … our homes … our unity.

Some of us fled eastwards into the Foothills. Some fled north into a forsaken realm. Forsaken by the Light, forsaken by the living, what hope had we left when turning that way? We still saw the greenish fumes before us, suffocating the last bit of life left in the ground. The abominations of steel and acid that bellowed those vapors out, always bubbling, sizzling, roaring. The skull-faced catapults that lobbed barrels of plague into …

_Enough of the past, it is gone. Forever. Nothing can change that._

But the screams. The gurgling and panting of the dying … and the risen. The silence afterwards in the wilderness. We ran, ever northwards, never looking back. Wolves howled in these northern woods, their red eyes glimmering in the bushes and reeds. It was almost as if they were following us, always waiting, always circling. This was not the simple cunning of mere beasts. This was pure, unadultered loathing. Hatred billowed towards us, hatred for those who intruded upon their ancient lands. Then, one night at an old forgotten ferry, a storm of howls arose. And then we saw them:

Man-Wolves. Savage beasts from old legends, walking fairytales some called „Worgen“. They ripped through our trek with a fury I never saw before. Many good people died, torn to shreds. We drove them off near dawn and spent the morning „freeing“ those who wouldn‘t make it. A foraging party found a few boats, remnants from a time when the world wasn‘t that dark and gloomy. We crossed the lake at dusk, finally landing on the central isle with it‘s ancient keep. It was abandoned, though we found remnants of camps and signs of recent battles. There were corpses littering the castle floors, hideous and misshapen: Undead gnolls. Afterwards, we cleansed the island with fire.

Now our banner flows freely above Fenris Keep. We started rebuilding shortly after our landing, thanking the Light for another chance. It was all going so well…

But the past wouldn‘t keep away from us, it came in the day when the earth shook and the lake roared in fury. Shortly afterwards the undead massed at the shoreline, even bringing their disgusting friends from the West, those thuggish Greenskins, with them. They marched southwards, where a massive crack had appeared in Greymane Wall, most like due to the quake we witnessed the night before. We didn‘t dare to hope those traitors over there fared any better than us when **SHE** decided to come to Southshore.

Anyways, one of our foraging parties was caught by those monsters. She knows now we‘re here. But while we were preparing our defenses for the onslaught of the dead, another ugly memory visited us right on our doorstep. Two worgen, one even clothed like a fucking nobleman, walked into our camp and demanded to speak with our leaders. They spoke! Those animals could talk!? And they claimed the Alliance sent them to find allies against the undead? The captain would have them executed but the elders forbade it. They believed them. I – and many others – did not.

Then **SHE** made her move: Not with an army, no - not even with a single boat. A man – if you can still call something like that a man – and a pale giantess came flowing over the lake, not even touching its surface. They butchered everyone who stood in their way. As we saw we couldn‘t win, we retreated into the Keep. But even that did not deter them. When our retreat reached the upper level our eyes fell upon a terrifying scene: Our elders were gone. Instead there stood several Worgen, wearing their clothes, empty flasks in their hands. The Worgen, who introduced himself earlier as Crowley turned towards us … and smiled.

I don‘t know why the butchers fled when they came into the hall. They slaughtered so many of us and now they were afraid? But even that spectre was shaken by her new enemies and flew away. Afterwards, Crowley and our elders told us about a simple choice we could make: Wait behind these walls to be slaughtered by a new forsaken assault. To be killed and enslaved by that purple whore who destroyed our lives once before. Or to choose vengeance, to do as they did, to drink the Worgen‘s blood which grants immunity to the forsaken plague. And so we chose vengeance.

There are no _„Survivors of Southshore“_ anymore. There are no _„Wanderers of Silverpine“_ either and no _„Refugees of Lordamere Lake“_. Only the _„Pack of Fenris“_ stands strong and united against those who once annihilated an innocent village to please their monstrous nature. Now, **our** assault begins. We stand ready.

Across the lake lies the old ferry: Only a single man stands atop. He smells like **PREY**. We will rip him to shreds, then their army and finally we will scour the land for HER and **FEAST. ON. HER. CORPSE.**

The captain charges into the lake, leading our attack. I follow him. We all follow him.

**Silverpine. Will. Burn.**


End file.
